Clarity
by Call-Me-Crazy.Cuz I Am
Summary: AU. "This is the story of a boy and a girl who felt something so deep between them they risked everything to figure out what it was, and a boy and a girl that spent every moment together wishing for more time. This is a story of one love that messed up a lot of lives and another that changed the fate of a nation." Two boys. Two girls. Four teenagers who just want freedom. R/R.
1. Part 1

**A.N. Don't own anything. Want to own something. Dang. PLEASE REVIEW- **

**CLARITY. **

**PART 1.**

_Okay. _

_Okay. _

_So, everybody says that the best way to deal with emotional trauma is to meet it head on. I love writing, and I've had enough emotional trauma to write a dissertation on, so here goes. _

_Many see the tale of Juliet and Romeo as the pinnacle of undeniable love, the symbol of lover's determination and the lasting effects of true love._

_Frankly, I think it's all crap._

_Setting aside the fact that it's fictional, for crying out loud, Juliet was twelve. Romeo sixteen. How the hell did they know what love was, how the hell could they risk everything, give up all they'd ever known, just for a stab in the dark, for something uncertain and shaky?_

_It boggles my mind, and not in the good, Henry-Cavill-shirtless way._

_Therefore, dear reader, I am pleased to tell you that this is not a retelling of Romeo and Juliet. In fact, this isn't even really similar to it. _

_Yes, there's forbidden -maybe not forbidden, more frowned upon- love involved and yes, there might be a balcony scene somewhere and sure, there's a tragic ending._

_But don't get confused, reader, and think this is a regular semi-not-really-retelling_

_Romeo is never a judging, egotistical, stubborn jerk to everyone but Juliet (at least at first), and Juliet is certainly never lonely, lost, and suicidal (until the ending, that is)._

_No, dear reader, this is not the tale of Juliet and her Romeo._

_This is the story of the Baker's Son and his Huntress, and of the Victor Who Lost and her Fisherman. This is the story of a boy and a girl who felt something so deep between them they risked everything to figure out what it was, and a boy and a girl that spent every moment together wishing for more time. This is a story of one love that messed up a lot of lives and another that changed the fate of a nation._

_This is the story of Peeta and Katniss and Finnick and Annie. _

_I was there for it all, dear reader. I went unnoticed by everyone, I saw it all. _

_And then, I asked questions to verify what I already knew was true. _

_This, I promise you, is the 100% truthful account of this events. This is the sad, sad story of two girls and two boys who just wanted to be free. _

**/~~~ANNIE~~~/**

There is a library on every block in Panem, but the only one I ever go to is the one on 4th and Capitol. And not just because I live on 4th; no, it's partly because, silly as I am, I think the librarian's assistant is hot.

Mags runs that particular library, and she's absolutely amazing, the way she loves all of her regulars and all of her books are like her children, but Finn, her foster son and her helper, is beyond comparison. With bronze hair, sea-green eyes, and charm for days -and when I say days, I legitimately mean days-, he's every girl in this town's Prince Charming, and it's stupid of me to harbor this little fantasy. He's the subject of every girl's fantasy, while I'm the weird chick who spends her time either in a mental hospital or in her head.

I was diagnosed with Hallucinogenic Persisting Perception Disorder when I was seven. Basically, it means that I sometimes hallucinate, and when it happens I can't tell what's real and what isn't. It was a terrible thing, growing up, but especially now, when I can't really function in normal society, it sucks. It's why I only go to Mags's library; she understands, and she doesn't yell when I go away in the middle of a sentence.

I park my bike right in front of her library, now, sliding off easily and locking it in place. I haven't gone away at all this week, which is an achievement, trust me, so I'm a little sloppy. Technically, I'm not supposed to go anywhere alone; Mother and Daddy watch me like hawks, because "You could have an episode in the middle of the street, Annie dear, and then what would happen?"

I am not allowed to eat hot food, for fear I'll go away and choke; I am not allowed to cook for fear I'll go away and burn myself; I am not allowed to go to school, because "Your mother can teach you perfectly well, Annie dear, and besides, what would happen if you had an episode and we weren't there?"

I am not allowed to do anything; I am caged in a little house in in a little town in a little world.

The door chimes little when I open it, and the sound makes me jump. It doesn't take much to set me off, and I definitely don't want to have to explain an episode to anyone.

Mags isn't here; her cup of coffee isn't by the desk. The place is empty anyway, the only sign that there's even a librarian here is the open water bottle on the counter.

I walk lightly, not wanting to disturb anything. I can hear whistling from the back, but I'm too afraid of an awkward confrontation to go see what's happening back there. Instead, I head towards the classics section and smile when I get there. I've made it my goal to read through all of them, since I probably won't be able to come to this library again after January hits.

The thing about HPPD is that it cause other problems; problems like inability to tell real from fake. It cause panic attacks. Depression.

All that's supposed to kick in around my seventeenth birthday.

It's June now; I turn seventeen in January. That means I have seven months. Seven months before Mother and Daddy put me in the Cornucopia, a mental asylum directly outside of Panem.

I run my fingers along the spines of the books, pressing down the anger and resentment. It's not going to change anything, and it takes too much energy to be angry, energy I don't have.

I hear footsteps behind me, but I'm certain they'll turn or leave or something. No one talks to the weird girl, the one with the crazy mental disease. Once they see who I am, they'll leave.

Only they don't.

I hear the crunching sound before I hear the deep voice. It sounds like he's eating sugar cubes or something, and I freeze up as warm breath hits my neck.

"Can I help you with something, love?"

"Oh," I squeak, cursing my crap social skills inwardly. It's Finn, of course it's Finn, who else chews sugarcubes and calls people love? "Oh, no, I'm fine. Thanks, though."

"Sure?" More breath on my neck. Warm and comforting, not sticky and creepy like Snow's.

Snow is my "therapist". He's the therapist of practically everyone in this town, but the gist of his job is this: he makes people talk about their problems and then blackmails them with that information.

For me, it's the fact that if he recommended it, my parents would slap me in the asylum so fast my head would spin.

"Oh, yeah, I'm good. This is where I spend most of my time," I laugh awkwardly and turn around so I'm facing him.

_Bad. Idea._

His eyes are sea-green and lit with amusement and more than a little confusion. "Oh? Maybe I'm always in the back when you're here. I'm Finn Odair, by the way."

"I know," I say quickly. Who doesn't know? He's like Apollo reincarnated. "I talk with your foster mom a lot. Mags and I go way back."

"Uh-huh," he nods, still looking a bit confused, "Well, if you need anything, just shout, yeah?"

"Yeah," I smile awkwardly and tuck my hair behind my ears. Before I even notice it, his hand is also in my hair, and he's running his hand through it until he pulls out a white feather.

"How'd you get this stuck in there?" He laughs, brushing my nose with it. "Roll around in pillows?"

"Something like that." The real story is that I feel asleep in the meadow and some doves decided to build a nest in my hair, but he doesn't have to know that. Too late do I realize how that sounds, and I blush again as he raises an eyebrow and nods.

"See you later, Annie," He says walking back towards the desk.

I stand in that same spot for a moment, and it takes me a second to wonder how exactly he knew my name.

**(*PEETA.*)**

I live on the corner of 12th and Capitol, in the nicest part of the poorest neighborhood of the little town of Panem.

I've lived here my entire life, in a tiny apartment above my family's bakery, and I don't think the place has changed at all. The rich still live on 1st, 2nd, and 4th street; the poor still live on 11th and 12th Ave; the snow still falls in the winter and the doors still creak in the summer and Snow is still a creepy son of bitch.

But this spring is different. This spring is my last.

The cancer started in my lungs, clogging them up and making it nearly impossible to breathe for a while. Then it spread to my leg, damaging it so badly it had to be amputated and replaced with a metal one.

Now it's targeting my brain, and by the time winter comes I'll be a goner.

The light spring wind whips at my hair as I kick the door to Sae's open, my arms full of breadbaskets.

"Peeta!" Madge cries when she sees me, looking desperately relieved as she balances a load of dirty dishes in her arms. "Oh my god, you're a lifesaver! Could you take those back to Sae and handle Table 7? I'd do it, but I'm swamped, and-" She flushes. "I just can't."

"S'okay, Madge, I'll take care of it," I assure her, laughing at her relieved expression. Like I could ever say no. There's too much beauty in this world, too many things to see and do and too little time to waste it being a dick.

"Head's up, Sae," I call, entering the busy kitchen. "Delivery Boy, back for round 2894."

"Put the bread on the counter and grab an apron," Sae says, all business, but she pinches my cheek anyway before she flips a burger.

I smile at her and grab my usual apron; paint and flour stained, it's easily the most stable thing I've got right now, and it's special to me in that way security blankets are special to little kids.

Table 7 is in the very back of the restaurant, and right now there's five people sitting there. I can tell they're from the poorest parts of 12th Ave, and I get now why Madge couldn't take them. She has a history, something with her and a hunter, and it's just hard for her.

Me, I've got no such problems. I smile as I walk up, menus in hand.

"How're we all doing today?" I say conversationally, handing the menus out even though they probably know them better than I do.

"Terrible." The tall, dark-haired man in the corner glowers at me and nudges the girl next to him. Her head snaps up, her eyes meet mine, and all I can think is _wow._

Her eyes are dark and guarded, her hair long and pulled into a dark braid that hangs down the side of her face and her shoulder.

Her eyes widen in recognition.

And just like that, I am in love.

**-KATNISS.- **

Sick people make me nervous.

They always have, and I'm not sure why. I think it's rooted somewhere in my mother's clinical depression issues, but whatever the cause, ithe truth. Even something as simple as a cold freaks me out. I don't really broadcast that, because is there honestly any better way to paint a target on your back in this town than to admit a weakness like that, but even coughing bothers me.

So I honestly don't know what to do around the baker's son, Peeta.

It's no secret to anyone that he's deathly sick, so sick he won't live to 21, which should be more than enough cause for me to avoid him. The thing is, though, he saved my life, and my sister's. So I can't really act like he doesn't exist.

Right now I can tell he's entered Sae's, and not just because Madge is practically jumping up and down with relief. I know he's here because the smell of flour and bread just swept over the entire diner, and I can hear the irregularity in his steps from miles away.

There's five of us at Table 7, there always are, but I'm the only one who ducks when Peeta enters. Prim is too young to remember what he did for us, Rory and Vick simply don't care, and Gale is too busy staring at Madge to notice him, but I do. Sick people in general make me nervous, but something about Peeta makes it so much worse than usual.

He disappears into the back and I breath a sigh of relief. I don't need to be distracted; I've got bigger things to worry about, like how I'm going to pass AP English and whether or not my mother will still be alive when I get home.

See, my mother is sick too, only she's letting it kill her. _At least Peeta fights, _I think bitterly. _At least he tries to make his life count. _

I duck my head again when he comes back out, keeping it down all the way through his opening pleasantries. When Gale nudges me, though, I can't keep my head down anymore, so I look up slowly.

Peeta is look directly at me, and his blue eyes widen with recognition and something else, something deeper, when I look up.

A warm feeling spreads itself in my stomach, unbidden and unwelcome, and I mentally chastise myself. I am not allowed to have butterflies in my stomach; I am not allowed to want to hear him speak. I have never spoken more than ten words to him, and besides that, he is sick. He will die soon, and I can't handle anymore death.

He shakes his head as if he's trying to rid it of water and tells us to call when we're ready to order. The moment he walks away, limping slightly because of his leg, Gale snorts. "What's he doing here? Not like he needs the money."

"Maybe he likes it," Prim suggests innocently. "It must get lonely, being sick like that."

"No," Gale flicks his straw against Prim's nose. "No, it must get lonely being that Crazy Cresta chick. Mellark's got it easy compared to her. At least he gets to live what's left of his life."

Annie Cresta is crazy, yes, and she probably does have it worse than Peeta, but I still kick Gale under the table and glare. "Not cool, Gale."

"Whatever, Catnip." He teases, looking around the diner languidly. "Wonder where Madge is?"

"Probably hiding from cavemen like you," I tell him, but I glance around for her too. Madge is my friend, even if she is the richest girl on 12th Ave. It takes a lot to earn my respect and even more to earn Gale's, but Madge managed it somehow. She even managed to get Gale to develop some weird attraction towards her, which, in my opinion, is just wrong on multiple different levels. She's always writing in a wire-bound white notebook when she's not working at the diner, but I'm not one to judge.

Peeta comes walking back over, all smiles and dimples, and asks if we've made up our minds.

"Yeah," Gale says. " Two grilled cheeses, a #5, please, and-" He looks up at me expectantly. "What do you want, Catnip?"

"A bowl of plum soup, please." I say, glaring back at Gale. "I always get plum soup."

"It's really good," Peeta says a little awkwardly. "Well, that'll be right out."

"Seriously, though," Gale says thoughtfully once he leaves. "He probably has it a lot easier than most people."

I look at his retreating form, at his dragging metal leg and his slightly slumped shoulders, and all I can say is, "No, I don't think he does."

**[+Finnick.+] **

My phone is buzzing.

My phone is always buzzing nowadays, so it really shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but the atmosphere in Mags's library is so chill it pisses me off when something disrupts it. A lot of things piss me off, but something about the annoying pinging sound makes me want to chuck it at the nearest wall.

Instead, I lean back in the librarian's chair and fish another sugar cube from the jar in front of me. Popping it into my mouth, I watch the girl in the classics section and try to ignore the beeping.

She's not even reading them, I notice curiously. She's just running her fingers along them like they're all old friends of hers. Mags told me that she was fragile, but she didn't tell me she wasn't even going to read anything.

My phone buzzes yet again, and I can't take the sound it makes anymore, so I give in and check it.

I have 71 missed messages.

One from Snow.

The others from heartbroken teenagers who want to know why I haven't called.

_Gee,_ I think bitterly. _Maybe it's because my therapist blackmailed me into seducing you in the first place. _

Ignorance has always been bliss for me. The best years of my life were the few when I didn't ask questions, didn't wonder why Mags took care of me, didn't ask where my real parents were or why I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere alone.

My world fell apart not when I started asking, but when I finally got my answers.

Mags took care of me because she was the only foster mom willing to take on an angry, confused seven-year-old boy.

My real parents were laying with the fishes at the bottom of the river running by Panem.

I wasn't allowed to walk anywhere alone because Snow already had enough dirt on me; he didn't need anymore.

Snow insisted on seeing me after my parents died. He listened to the complaints, the worries, the secrets of that seven-year-old and he used them to control me.

"Have any favorites?" I ask Annie abruptly because I can't spend anymore time in my head. I'll go crazy if I do.

"Oh, um," She blushes. "Well, I really like Girl Interrupted. Have you heard of it?"

"Nope." I get up and walk over to her. "Tell me about it."

"Oh, well, it's about a girl in 1967 who is placed in an insane asylum. She can't stick to one world, you know? And they label her crazy because of it."

"Hits home for you?"

"A little." She shrugs. "What about you?"

"Um. Probably Catcher In The Rye. Or Naruto." She stares at me, clearly confused. "Oh, c'mon. You've heard of Naruto. Most legit manga series like, ever?"

"No," She blushes a little. "I don't get out much." She says this with a little laugh.

Unlike the other laughs I've heard -and I've heard plenty- this one is genuine. She's not laughing because she wants something, like most of the girls in this town. She's not laughing because she think's I'm stupid, like most of the adults in this town. She's not laughing just to be a creepy bastard, like Snow.

She's not even laughing because she loves me, like Mags.

No, she's laughing because she wants to laugh, in a way that's all her own.

It's that laugh that drives me, somehow, to do what I do next.

"Why don't you come over?" I say easily. Her eyes still pop out of her head. "I have the entire collection, and Mags is making some kind of seafood gumbo that's bound to be weird but delicious."

"I couldn't," She shakes her head vigorously, blushing all the way. "Mags-"

"Would probably shoot me if I didn't invite you over. And anyway, you said you two go way back, didn't you?" It's a low blow, but Mags probably _will_ shoot me if I don't bring Annie back so she can fuss over her.

"But my parents-"

"Mags'll call them. C'mon, Annie," I grin at her beseechingly. "You know you want to."

She fights with herself inwardly for a little; I can tell, because her eyes practically broadcast her every emotion.

Then, she sighs and says, "No. No, I couldn't, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I sigh dramatically. "You just signed my death warrant, but no biggie."

She laughs, and I head back for the desk.

My phone buzzes again. It's a message from Snow, one that simply says _come._

I hear the front door bell chime as Annie leaves, but I don't look up. I just stare at the tiny screen.

I do look up, however, when the door bell chimes again and Annie walks back in.

"Why not?" She says breathlessly, like she ran all the way back. "I've been meaning to talk to Mags anyway."

"Cool," I say, smiling.

My phone buzzes yet again. I make to check it, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Annie. She's standing in the middle of a sunbeam from the window, so she's drenched in this really pretty hazy yellow color.

I put my phone on silent instead and grab my coat.


	2. Part 2

**CLARITY. **

**PART TWO. **

_You know, I rode my bike down Capitol yesterday. _

_Not just down Twelfth, like I used to. No, I went back to that little town in Maine and I road from First all the way down to the what once was the poorest part of Twelfth. _

_It's so different now. If any of them were still here, they wouldn't believe it. They wouldn't be able comprehend that it was their actions that caused all this. _

_But they're not here. They left this town a long time ago; I suppose I did, too, before I ever step foot over the county line. And still, it stays with me. I wake up in the night sometimes, and I think I can see Peeta's awkward limping walk, see the madness in Annie's eyes. _

_That's the thing about Panem. You can leave it, but it'll never leave you. _

_So, dear reader, I have one thing to say before I get into the actual story: _

_Be very, very careful that you don't get caught up in the magic of complacency. Be careful that you don't get compliant, don't think that your boring little life will never change. I did, and look where I am now. My boring little life? _

_It went down in flames, and I watched as it burned. _

_The sad part was, I helped it happen. It was like each of them tossed a match on this town, and I poured gasoline on it. _

_This story, dear reader, is that gasoline. _

**(*PEETA*) **

The rest of my day, and really the rest of my month, passes by in a dreamlike haze.

All I can see when I close my eyes is the girl in the diner, her long dark hair and her intelligent eyes. She's everywhere for me; it's wussy and stupid but I'm painfully infatuated with her, and it shows. I'm vacant during my shifts at the diner –she doesn't come in again- I blow through my doctor's appointments and burn at least half of the bread loaves I try to bake. It's lucky I run into her when I do, really, because if I hadn't, I probably would've become permanently useless.

I'm walking up Twelfth on my way to the bakery, and I literally run into her.

"Ah, geez-" I say apologetically, bending to help her up. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking-hey, I know you!"

"Do you?" She says, brushing herself off. "I don't think so."

"No, I do," I say, and I do know her. I'd know her in the middle of a sea of people. Her image is probably burned into the back of my eyelids. "You're the girl from the diner."

"A lot of girls go into the diner," she says, shifting like she's uncomfortable. "You're probably thinking of someone else."

"No, I'm not," I smile at her, hoping she'll start warming up. "They call you Catnip, right?"

"My name is Katniss." She says shortly. "And I'm late."

She starts to walk away, head down, but I grab the top part of her arm before she can. "Wait. I'm sorry –this probably sounds weird and insane, but I really want to talk to you."

"Is this you asking me out?" Her voice is flat. "Because the answer is no."

"It's me asking you for a conversation, not for a date." I can't hide the slightly pleading note in my voice.

She bristles slightly and then deflates. "If I come with you, I'm bringing Prim."

Prim? I scramble to put a face to that name, and eventually I come up with a little girl with blonde braids. "Sure. The more the merrier, right?"

She looks at me for a long moment and then snorts. "You _would_ think that."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because you've never been hungry. You've never had to struggle or suffer. You live a rich life. I don't. I see what having multiple mouths does to a poor family."

Yeesh. That's harsh. "I probably know more about struggling and suffering than you think." I say, glancing down at my metal leg.

Her eyes widen, but only for a second; it's like she has her entire body on lockdown or something. "It's not the same."

"Isn't it?" I say, a little sourly, my earlier excitement disappearing. She obviously doesn't want to talk to me, and I've got too little time to waste it annoying some girl I barely know. "I think it is. You know, I should go back to the bakery. They probably need my help on something."

"Why do you help?" She calls after me as I begin to walk away. "You've got brothers. They could do your share."

I turn around to face her. "They could, but they wouldn't. As long as I can move and think, I'm going to be working at that bakery."

"Why?" She presses on, and the setting sunlight does this thing where it illuminates her like she's some kind of angel. My stomach flips. "You're sick. You shouldn't have to."

"Maybe." I shrug. "But if I didn't, I'd feel guilty. The bakery is a part of me; it was there when I was born, when I first got sick, and it'll be there when I die. I want to…give back to it, I guess."

She doesn't say anything, only looks at me with dark, intelligent eyes.

I sigh and start walking away again. "The bakery is my home. It's what I am. And I'm not going to let my sickness take away the things that make me the person I am, you know? If I'm going to die, I want to still be me when I go."

I'm halfway down the street when I hear her voice call after me, "Wait. I'll…talk to you."

I resist the urge to punch the air and break out in an air-guitar solo.

**-KATNISS- **

The house is warm when I finally get home, which can only mean one thing: my mother is having one of her good days.

The sun set a while ago, so I fumble with my key and try to suppress the feelings of guilt in my stomach. I left Prim here, alone, with my mother so I could socialize with a dying man? How utterly pathetic.

"Prim?" I call as I finally get the door open and step inside. "Prim?"

From the kitchen, I hear Prim's voice call, "Katniss? I'm in here!"

I head towards the kitchen, squinting a little in bright light. My mother and Prim are both there, making some kind of soup dish, when I arrive, and Prim looks up at me with a beaming smile on her face.

"Hi!" She says, stirring the pot with an old wooden spoon. "Where were you?"

"Out." I say, ruffling her hair as I reach past her and open the fridge. "Your shirt's untucked."

"Out with Peeta Mellark?" Prim asks innocently, and I freeze.

"How did you know that?" I try to keep my voice calm.

"Oh, Madge told me that he'd been practically floating since he saw us at the diner." I make a mental note to talk to Madge about what she says to Prim . "And everyone can tell he loves you."

"Don't be stupid, little duck," I say sharply. I instantly feel guilty at Prim's expression. It's not her fault; she was just telling me the truth. I soften my tone. "He doesn't like me, Prim. And I don't like him."

"He definitely likes you," Prim insists. "I think it's sad. He's going to live such a short life, and he'll never know what love is."

"_You_ don't know what love is, Prim," I say, taking out a gallon of milk and closing the fridge. "And I'm sure there's plenty of girls who would be glad to show him."

"But he doesn't like any of _them_. And besides, a lot of people don't want to get attached to him because he's so sick. He doesn't really have any friends, and his mother is really mean to him. It's like she _blames_ him for dying or something."

"How do you _know_ all this, little duck?" I'm legitimately surprised. _I_ don't even know half of the things Prim has been saying recently.

"I talk to people, Katniss," Prim ladles her soup into a bowl and my mother sticks a crumbly piece of bread into it. "And I observe things. Like, his mother tries not to talk to him when they're out in public, and he always sat alone in school."

"I think Prim's right, Katniss," My mother says quietly. "He's probably very lonely."

"I don't want _your_ opinion." I say harshly, gazing down at the bowl of soup in front of me.

I can tell she's hurt, but I don't care. It's days like these, when she's practically normal, that make me resent her the most. It's days like these when I hate her for giving us false hope.

"You could at least be friends with him, Katniss," Prim says tentatively. "I think he deserves at least _one_ friend."

I eat my soup in silence and head to my room as soon as I finish, closing the door behind me. I lean against the door and remind myself that I am not allowed to think about the sadness in Peeta's eyes when we talked this afternoon. I am not allowed to want to help him. I am not allowed to care about him, not any more than I care about any rich person.

But I think about him that entire night, anyway.

The next morning, after I drop Prim off at Gale's house, I walk to Snow's office for my weekly appointment. It's chillingly cold and clogged with the scent of roses, so I'm almost relieved when he waves me into his sterile white office, where the condition is less deathly.

"Well, Miss Everdeen," He says, setting a cup of tea he knows I won't drink in front of me. "How are we today?"

"Fine." I say shortly. My strategy with these appointments is to say as little as possible, so Snow has less to use against me.

"Excellent, excellent. You're enjoying your summer break? Not working too hard on those hunting trips of yours?"

Snow knows perfectly well I work my ass off on those trips because they're what feed Prim and my mother, but I work to keep my disdain off my face. "Yes."

"Good, good. You know, Miss Everdeen," Snow says, standing up and slowly walking around his office. "I do try to keep the best interests of this town and its citizens at a forefront, whatever some…insurgents may think."

I focus on a case of roses in front of me and struggle to keep my emotions in check.

"That being said," Snow continues. "I do think it would be…profitable for all if you were to do as your mother and sister suggested and make friends with Mr. Mellark."

_How the hell does he know that's what Prim and my mother told me to do?_ I wonder. _We were completely alone! _

"And, if some…romantic inclination were to form," Snow smiles thinly. "Then all the better."

"You want me to…" I struggle to find the most appropriate words to use. "Pretend to like Peeta?"

"He's a very likeable young man," Snow says, but his eyes narrow and coldness enters his features. "But no, Miss Everdeen, that's not what I _want_. I _want_ you to drink that tea. I _expect_ you to begin a romantic relationship with Mr. Mellark."

"Why?" I blurt, too confused to bother with control. "Why would you want me to do that? Why would I ever do that?"

"I simply think it would be in his best interest, Miss Everdeen." Snow says, faux concern on his face. "And that's really all I have at heart. And as for why you would comply, well, I'm sure we could think of some kind of reward,"

We both know he's lying. There's absolutely no way loving me is in Peeta's best interest. "No." I say, standing up. I need to get out of this place, away from this man with his puffy lips and thinning hair. "My answer is no."

Snow speaks again as I reach the door, stopping me dead in my tracks. "You're only sixteen, Miss Everdeen. And yet, you carry so many burdens. The dead father. The sick, neglectful mother. The young sister who depends on you." I stiffen as he continues. "It would be such a shame if something were to happen to the life you've built for yourself. If, for example, Child Protective Services were to find out exactly how sick your mother is. They'd take your sister away, wouldn't they? You, you they'd leave, but Primrose- you might never see her again."

A cold chill runs down my spine. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

"And then, there's always the fact that it's illegal to hunt in the woods bordering Panem," He continues. "Endangered species, of course. You'd be considered a poacher and tried as an adult if you were caught."

No, no, no. This can't be happening.

I could make sure that never happens." His voice comes from right behind me. "Of course, it's completely up to you. Simply make Mr. Mellark love you- or, lose your little sister and your livelihood."

I don't know why he's playing or what he hopes to win. All I know is, I've just become a piece in his games.

"I'll do it," I say hoarsely, like I haven't spoken in a while. "I'll do it, just don't hurt Prim. Please, don't hurt her."

"Of course not, Miss Everdeen," Snow's voice is condescending and triumphant. "Now, I believe Mr. Mellark is working at that charming little diner? Perhaps you should…pay him a visit.

I nod once, and finally, I leave, bleakly feeling for all the world like I've just made a deal with the devil.

**[+FINNICK+] **

Annie comes over for dinner every night for the next month, and soon I just get used to seeing her there when I come home.

She's really everywhere, now; if she's not at the library, she's at my house, talking with Mags over some book, or she's walking up and down 4th Ave aimlessly, like she doesn't care that there's a very real chance she could get run over. Of course, she falls over herself apologizing when a driver starts honking their horn at her.

Annie's weird like that; she feels everything so intensely, but if she even thought for a second all that emotion made someone else uncomfortable she'd stop. She's sweet and eager, and she reminds me of the little sister I never wanted and never had or a really energetic puppy.

Like right now. She and Mags are knitting –trust me, I think it's weird, too, but of course they don't ask me- while I eat sugar cubes and try not to fall asleep. The klick-klack of the needles has almost sent me drifting away when, out of the blue, Annie says, "Finnick, have you ever been kissed?"

I spit out the sugar cube I'm sucking on and surge up, coughing. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

Mags shoots me her _don't you use that language in my house, Finnick Odair_ look as Annie blushes a little. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking that you've probably been kissed a lot before, and I wanted to ask you about it."

"Don't worry about it," My eyes are watering a little, but if Annie thinks she's done me any lasting harm she'll feel bad about it forever. "Why were you thinking about that?"

"No reason," She says, but the blush on her pale skin deepens and I raise an eyebrow.

"Aw, Annie," I say teasingly. "Is this the part where you declare your deep, undying love for me? Because I've already got three other love confessions scheduled for today, so we need to move fast."

"What-no!" Annie shakes her head furiously. "I'm not-I would never-"

"Oh, it's alright, Annie, my love." I say graciously, sitting up straight. "I understand your deep attraction to me; really, I do. You are not the first young girl to fall under my dazzling-_oomph_," Annie's ball of yarn hits me straight in the stomach. "Jesus, woman, keep your passion under contr-" Mags's ball of yarn hits me smack in the forehead, and I collapse dramatically on the floor. "Et tu, Brutus?"

"Stop tormenting that poor girl," Mags says sternly. "She's too nice for a rapscallion like you."

"A _rapscallion_? Geez, Mags, your use of sixteenth century vocab shocks and wounds me," I reply, getting up and padding on the sides of my feet to their couch. "And I don't know, Annie could have a mean streak. It's the nice ones you have to watch out for."

"Good thing you're so mean, then," Annie quips, looking up at me. "You can get away with anything."

"Ah, Annie, your wit both astounds and hurts me!" I say, and I dramatically collapse on top of both of them, my head in Annie's lap, my legs in Mags's. "You two shall be the death of me!"

"Death will be imminent if you don't get up off this couch right now," Mags says, but I can tell she's teasing because if she was serious, she'd have already pushed me off.

I shift, enjoying the bright flush it brings to Annie's face. "Oh, I don't know, Mags, I'm quite comfortable here," I joke. "I think I'll-" I fake a yawn. "Yeah, I think I'll just go ahead and take a nap."

I close my eyes, intending to pretend to be asleep, but I actually am tired, and soon, I do fall asleep.

I don't dream of anything, but that's nothing new. I haven't dreamed since I first came to live with Mags; it's like that part of me died when my parents did.

The feeling of a hand gently sliding through my hair, rhythmically, over and over again, wakes me up.

The TV is switched on; there's a rerun of _Full House_ playing, and I'm still prostrate across Annie and Mags. Annie's hand is in my hair, weaving in and out absentmindedly. Straight above me, all I can see is the bottom of her chin, and the curls of dark hair around it. Mags is patting my knee gently, and everything is so peaceful and calm in this moment, with my phone silenced and in the other room, that it's almost like dreaming again.

Annie looks down at me and smiles when she sees I'm awake. Her eyes, I notice, are a deep, deep green, and are full of kindness and something else, something deeper, and in this moment she looks nothing like a little sister or an energetic puppy.

"Hey, Finn," She says sweetly.

I reach up and pull on one of her dangling curls gently. "Hey, Annie," I say back.

**/-ANNIE-/ **

Finnick falls back asleep after the fifth _Full House _episode, and Mags, with a devious twinkle in her eye, pushes his legs off of her and heads to her room to '_read_', leaving me alone with Finnick's head in my lap and the very attractive Uncle Jesse on the television.

It's about six o'clock; the sun has already set, but I told my mother I'd be back around eight, so I've got time. My parents hate the idea of me walking home in the dark, but they hate the idea of me staying the night at Mags's house _("But, Annie dear, doesn't she have an eighteen-year-old son? And what if you had an episode?") _more, so we reached a much needed compromise.

Now, with my hand in Finnick's soft curly hair, I'm especially happy I wore them down.

I make it through three more episodes (including Uncle Jesse and Becky's wedding) before I, too, fall asleep.

Or, I fall into what I think is sleep.

_And then_, my body seems heavy and slow, and the shadows in the room seem to creep up and wrap me and Finn in a dark, suffocating embrace, and I want to scream but the sound is caught in my throat, and Mags's front door creaks open from behind me, and I know_, I know_ it's Snow, and I hear his silky voice say, "I am quite disappointed, Miss Cresta. I had thought you would put up more of a fight."

_And then_, he's right in front of me and he has a knife in his long white hand and his puffy lips curve into a sadistic smile. The scent of roses bombards my nostrils, and the knife makes a shining curve down and punctures not my throat, but Finn's.

_And then_, blood burbles up from the cut until it's soaking him and me and my hand in his hair is hot and heavy with the stuff, and Finnick's eyes are bulging and his body is seizing and somewhere someone is calling my name but I can't reach them and none of my episodes are this vivid, so this has to be real and-

An actual scream tears itself from my throat, and I jolt back to reality.

Finnick is looking up at me, concern in his eyes, but all I can see is the smooth skin of his throat, unbroken by Snow's knife, and I'm so relieved my breath begins to hitch in my lungs and it sounds like I'm hysterical.

"Annie?" Finnick sounds panicked. "Annie, what happened? You just went limp and all creepy vacant-like and then you started screaming!"

Once I'm calm enough and can breathe normally, I tell him, "It was one of my episodes. I haven't had one in so long, I got careless. I should've known that one was coming." Fate can just never give me a break.

"Annie," Finnick sits up and looks at me, concern and fear evident in his eyes. "Are they always like that?"

And I just breakdown and cry, because in my entire life there have only been two people who have treated me like I'm human and normal and not just some mad girl and I've just lost one of them.

I expect Finnick to shy away, to go and wake Mags and have her deal with me, but he doesn't.

Instead, he pulls me so my head is resting on his chest and his arms are wrapped around me and he says, "Do you remember what you asked me earlier, Annie?"

I sniff. "I asked you if you'd ever been kissed."

"That's right." He says, stroking a hand over my hair. "And the answer is yes. I've been slobbered on, I've had people stick their tongues and half their saliva into my mouth, and I've tasted people's last meals on their breath."

"N-no," I hiccup. "No, you haven't. That's too gross."

"True story. In fact, my first kiss tasted like mayonnaise and sour cream." Finnick wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Damn, it was awful. Just thinking about it makes me want to vomit."

"Mayo and sour cream? That's enough to put you off kissing for good," I say, and miraculously, I've stopped crying.

"It would've been, but I was too selfless. I couldn't deprive the world of my beauty like that," Finnick says loftily. "So I made a sacrifice for the greater good."

We both laugh, and with Finnick's hand stroking my hair and his laughter in my ears, I feel _safe_.

He looks down at me, an unexpected softness in his eyes, and just like that, I am in love.


End file.
